


Not Anymore

by Kerillian



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Heartache, M/M, Making Out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 15:19:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7366996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kerillian/pseuds/Kerillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“... You don’t bring the pieces of your broken heart onto the battlefield, Reyes, you keep it where it can heal itself. It can compromise your mission in the blink of an eye. War doesn’t stop for your pain.”</p><p>Reaper and Soldier: 76 encounter each other under their new circumstances.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Anymore

**Author's Note:**

> Another meet-on-the-battlefield angst. Please enjoy.

A mission like any other, he'd thought, even though nobody would dare call his line of work mundane. For how he was a living weapon, blood and violence was his base line. Soldier: 76 was now forever in his prime, intent on dedicating even his last breath to fighting, bringing the forces of evil to its knees by his hand alone, by any means necessary. Bearing all of this in mind, this mission _was_ just like any other, even if only for him in particular. His eardrums, his throat and his skull buzzed as he threw down his biotic field out of sight, and barked for his team to take advantage of it while it lasted. Between this and the swift, steady aim he used to blow an enemy medic's torso up with his rockets, he felt the undesirably slow pace of his payload's ascent to its destination nagging at him. Soldier: 76 was quick and efficient. He was self-sustaining. He wouldn't let his team slow him down, he thought, as he dashed off through the back corridors to get the drop on any unlucky soul who'd decided they'd try to do the same.

A mission like any other... except now, it wasn't.

The din of whirring machinery and plasma bullets that fired from the weapons of either side of the battle weren't quite a comfort, but they came close in an environment that eliminated any possibility of comfort in the first place. War cries and bullets, sound blasts and even healing streams, the firm _thwack_ of a misfired projectile and the might of a rocket that definitely hit its mark - they had their very own special frequencies that penetrated walls for a good distance around them. If it wasn't one, it was the other; it was a constant hum of different sounds that pulled together to form an ugly, violent, and _comforting_ song that told Soldier: 76 where everyone was, where the payload was, and helped him form strategies to hoist his team to victory.

Right now, he could hear nothing. He strained to hear anything, anything at all, and saw no point in holding hopes that this was a psychological or physiological phenomenon he was currently experiencing. If he could hear nothing, either the battle was over, or something was deeply wrong. He erred to the latter. He surmised that his hubris had landed him two steps away from totally fucked.

His skin prickled with cold sweat beading at the back of his neck, and to be safe, he threw another field down around himself.

... _Safe_? He was kidding himself. He wasn't safe. Field or none, he was probably going to die in five seconds.

The presence that replaced the din he took comfort in was _dark_ , harsh and oppressive. He'd found it hard to breathe, as though someone was plunging his head below the surface of water and wrenching it back out again. He took a breath, a deep one, and held it. Held it. Holding. _Holding_ , and he exhaled. He breathed to keep his nerves steady as the silence he heard was not quite silence, accompanied by the thrum of blood in his ears and arteries, and soon after that, a quiet rolling, rumbling tone that gripped his heart like a raptor's claws.

"Rookie mistake," A voice purred, mocking and dangerous, all the way in the back of his head. 

"I'd say I expected better from you, strike commander," the voice rasped again, and as he stood still, Soldier: 76 saw inky plumes encroach around his field of vision. "But I know you're stupid enough to run off and put yourself in danger when you're too restless to work with your team."

"Do it. Kill me. Get it over and done with." 76 grunted, stock still with nowhere to hide, no indication of where to run to safety under the influence of his opponent's environmental gloom.

As the words left his mouth, a pool of whirling darkness formed before him, materialising the built and cloaked form of the man he'd disliked seeing most on the battlefield. The man he'd hoped to avoid as much as he could when he was on these missions; the man who quickly tore the comfort right out from under him in any circumstance.

"That's cold, Morrison," The dark form said with a chuckle as he paced around the other man's space, "I thought we could have a nice _chat_ here, where nobody's going to come and find you."

"We're both wasting time, Reaper," 76 growled with pointed emphasis on his enemy's name, "It's not within either of our interests to keep screwin' around back here."

"But I've already killed you, Jack," Reaper husked, drawing closer into 76's space, "And I’ve still never gotten the satisfaction I wanted from it."

Jack did his best to look away from the red glow emanating from the hollow sockets of Reaper's mask.

"If I did that, I know you're just going to hop right out of that spawn room and continue to be a thorn in my side," He inched closer, close enough that Jack could now hear the sizzle of matter simultaneously forming and deteriorating under his clothes.

"Besides, I don't consider this to be a waste of time. But I'm sure you're itching to move on to better things. I've _always_ been a waste of time to you."

"Reyes..." Jack tried, neither desperate to escape, nor well equipped to deal with what was happening between them. “We blew what we were to pieces. Nothing is as it was.”

“Oh, I can agree with _that_ ,” Reaper bit, “Just look at me now, Jack. Clearly, I’m better than I ever was, unstable matter and all, and it’s all thanks to you. It might seem a little different from the perspective of the man who wasn’t _left to rot._ ”

“Reyes. We went through this,” Jack said, pulse rifle still clutched tightly to his chest as he unconsciously stepped back, responding to how Reaper pushed further in. “I took an opportunity that could have gone to either of us. None of… this,” He gestured between them with a nod, “None of this had to happen.”

“We went through that, alright. We tore each other apart over it. But you’re stumbling to avoid what I _really_ mean.” Reaper spoke, his inflections causing Jack’s hands to tense, and his toes to curl in his boots.

“... You don’t bring the pieces of your broken heart onto the battlefield, Reyes, you keep it where it can heal itself. It can compromise your mission in the blink of an eye. War doesn’t stop for your pain.”

“Are you trying to give me advice on moving on? On dealing with my pain?” Reaper laughed, sardonic and sharp, “You, the man who fought so _desperately_ to get me to let him in, who gave me everything I’d ever wanted, and needed… ”

Reaper’s voice wavered for a moment as his words became more impassioned, and when he paused, Jack felt a sick pull at his chest. His old flame backed him up to the wall behind him, and he dropped his rifle. The biotic field had long since vanished, and Reaper’s claws were straying to his shoulder. 

“... The man who made himself my world,” Reyes murmured, his touch sliding down to where he let his palm rest on the leather that clad Jack’s breast, just over his heart, “And then took it upon himself to destroy it...”

Jack’s heart thumped in his chest. His mask shielded his steeled eyes and tense jaw, but he knew Reaper could sense how he felt. It was an ability he’d had even before he’d turned into this.

“I am _death_ , and my _pain_ has existed from the moment you accepted your rank. You left me because _Overwatch_ told you to, and _this_ is what happened.”

“Gabe...“ Jack breathed.

It might have been because he’d stopped breathing to calm his nerves, or because in his mind, he was no longer Soldier: 76, just as the man who stood before him was not Reaper, but Gabriel Reyes. His body asked him, what would Jack Morrison do? He answered its quiet, confused query with an act he’d not done since the night they’d first killed each other. In a moment of blurred, warped time, his idle hand rose from his side and slid beneath the hood that cloaked Gabriel’s head, and cupped the cold, masked cheek beneath it. His thumb rest on the smooth, white plate of the mask where the dark skin under his eye would have been all those years ago, the tips of his fingers registering a faint warmth deeper inside his hood.

Gabriel stood still, thrown off by the sudden and bold act displayed by Jack. He’d too easily established his control of the situation, not even having taken into account that there might still have been a trace of warmth left in the man he’d cornered.

“I’m sorry, Gabriel. I’m sorry.” Jack’s mouth rounded the pronunciation of his name, similar to Reyes’ own tongue. It held weight between them, the weight of the memories of their time together, sharing space and food, sharing the air between them as they’d lay peacefully on whatever surface they could both fit on. It was one of only a handful of words that fell from his lips when they’d explored and tasted one another’s skin ( god, fuck, _please_ ), and it was the sound that accompanied the hot fan of breath on his lips when they stole heated kisses from one another in the corridors when nobody was looking.

It was unspoken, but plainly apparent to either man that this was all they could think of in this moment. A deep, cruel longing for what once was flooded between them.

“... Take off your mask.” Gabriel breathed. From this proximity, Jack could see the faint tendrils of smoke curling from the small openings where it could escape.

The machinery on Jack’s face clicked and unfastened at his mental command, revealing the scars that ran down his aged visage, the rough skin of his cheeks touched with grey stubble. His eyes held a fear within them that, for once, Gabriel could not appreciate, as it was not fear of him. Jack was fearful of the oncoming realisation of just how deeply he had hurt the man he had once promised his life to.

He’d gotten the courage to look his old lover in the eyes - or rather, where they should be - and they stood wordlessly, still holding parts of each other, heart and cheek. Jack forced his gaze to stay on the cold face of the mask as he hooked his fingers under it, and lifted. He went slowly to ease his nerves, and peered at the skin it had hidden beneath. It was difficult to see, shrouded in tendrils of darkness that roiled off of it, but through the sickly-dark skin Reaper’s form had taken, Jack could make out the shape of lips he had so loved to claim when the man he touched was Gabriel Reyes. 

“ _Stop_ ,” he spoke quickly, before Jack could slide the mask up over the tip of his nose.

Jack froze, and not a moment sooner, his vision was obscured, the back of his head cradled by a cold, clawed hand, and his lips were crushed by another’s.

He could not - would not - help himself. Neither man could. They held each other and kissed with the heartbreak and desperation of so many years apart, pried into one another in an effort to soothe the pain.

Gabriel’s lips made Jack’s buzz with pins and needles where they made contact, his skin strangely warm and cold at once, leaving an unnatural tingling sensation that should have worried him. Was he noxious? Jack couldn’t bring himself to care as he tasted Gabriel, laved his tongue against his with dazed fervour. The claws that dug into his scalp and his chest sent jolts of want coursing through his veins as he grunted and exhaled, his reserve of breath leaving him. Gabe’s hands shivered where they sat, reminding him once more of the reality of his situation.

If he breathed Gabriel in, would he regret it? He knew that once before, this man had let him in. He’d let Jack in, and Jack had left him with nothing. Could Jack let him in this time, in this new and dangerous way, to make up for what he had done, if only figuratively?

Their strange and complicated interaction would have to come to an end at some point. It may have just been the safest, easiest way.

He breathed in again, this time taking in the smell of Gabriel’s darkness. Sweet and cloying, and acrid at the same time. It’s what death ought to smell like, he thought.

As he continued to lock his lips with the other man’s, his grip grew weak. His mind focused on one thing less at a time, losing track of time itself as it passed. When he could no longer see, blinded by nerve damage, his blood slickened lips still moved against his old lover’s as he clung to this chance afforded to them by fate.

The last thing Jack Morrison remembers is a single, violent convulsion before his consciousness slips, and the embrace of death takes him for just a moment.

Soldier: 76 blinks, and finds himself in the spawn room, his pulse rifle in hand, and his mask in place. Reaper is gone, probably walking away from the spot where his cadaver would have lay if respawn had let it. The payload is metres away from its destination, which meant his team didn’t need him at this point. Their job was as good as done.

He stands and collects his mind, and closes his heart up, ready to receive word of when their enemy has retreated. Ready to tell himself over again that what happened did not matter, because nothing could ever come of it, now.

Soldier: 76 stands a living weapon, and buries Gabriel Reyes inside himself once again.

**Author's Note:**

> I headcanon that Reaper's skin emanates a very potent neurotoxin. I'm also completely fucking invested in these geezers.


End file.
